Sky Blue Blog

Here Today ...

We talk a lot around
these parts about the role art plays in our lives. We highlight how artists use
their creative process as a tool or vehicle to communicate something that needs
to come out of their souls and into the world. We also talk about art as an
economic driver, how it can help build a city, drive an economy or turn a
neighborhood around.

But maybe the more
important and decidedly more pure purpose of the arts is to nurture a dialogue
from person to person. As we share our experiences and connections with music,
paintings, books and movies with each other, we open ourselves up to be known. And with that, our curiosity about others'
connections with art allows us to know each other in a more intimate way. Art
isn't just something to do. Art isn't foremost a city-building tool. It's a
personal connector.

"It's no good
pretending that any relationship has a future if your record collections
disagree violently or if your favorite films wouldn't even speak to each other
if they met at a party."

— Nick Hornby

I've been thinking
about this because I lost one of my best friends recently, suddenly. Our
friendship was built over years of borrowed albums, personalized mixed cds (and tapes), and lots of listening and talking together
about songs, albums, samples and lyrics. When the shock of the news started to
fade and the reality started to kick in, music was my first and best tool for
working through the pain. It was also the best way I had to feel like I still
had an earthly connection to my friend.

He treated music a lot
like I do. We shared the habit of gobbling up as much music as we could, almost
frantically searching for the one song, album or lyric
to break through the mundane and truly elevate the listener -- or maybe
devastate him. This behavior, of searching intensely for that moment, can
transcend mere interest and sort of border on obsession.

Our most joyful times
together were centered on such discoveries. And those times were usually followed
by a high five and a request to borrow whatever music led to that particular
moment.

Photo by Ben Shine

Years of personalized mixes and burnt CDs trace the history of a friendship and help Ben keep an earthly connection to a lost friend.

Having longtime
relationships with people who share my interest and passion for music, books
and art helps me understand those works more fully. It's handy to have
thoughtful, fun people to chat with about tempo changes, lyrical missteps and
sick beats. And the more you talk to someone, the easier it is to explore
together and go deeper into art.

Those dialogues sharpen
my consumption and prepare my brain to hear the next song, read the next book, see the next painting with a more refined toolset. On the
flipside, learning about what art and music mean to other people has also
helped me, sometimes without even noticing it, better understand the people who
matter most to me.

One of my favorite
ongoing conversations has reached its conclusion, and I'm not particularly
ready for that reality. There aren't going to be any more mixes with his
handwriting and personalized tags on them. There won't be another saccharine
pop song that he makes the case for, as excited about a Top 40 track as a
middle school tween. And I won't get to respond by telling him that his choice
to embrace said song as quality means I can never trust his taste ever again,
but if I can borrow a couple more CDs, that would be swell.

I don't get to learn
anything new about him through music, or anything else. But what I do have is
years of sound-based memories imprinted on my heart and my hard drive.
Ultimately, I'm grateful for the way that he helped me know art and the way
that art helped me know him.